


STORYTELLER'S CHOICE

by DrTanner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrTanner/pseuds/DrTanner
Summary: I had the idea, quite without wanting to, to write some flagrant wish-fulfilment drivel specifically for me, a writer. If you are a writer, you may also appreciate it. ( b ._.)bI should also preface this piece by saying that it is not meant to be "good", and that it is, most likely, objectively terrible. Please don't hold this up as an example of the usual quality of my work! I try a lot harder than this when the story actually matters, lmao. It's literally just some stupid fluff that I wrote to make it Go Away, and now that it's done, I can forget about it and get on with the things I actually want to work on.Thanks!EDIT:So some people read this and commented on it, and it turns out that maybe it is, quite possibly, not terrible after all? I'm touched! Maybe more folks were hankering for something like this than I thought! You'll have to read it yourself and make up your own mind. <3
Relationships: Reader/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	STORYTELLER'S CHOICE

You are a Storyteller. 

You are a Storyteller, and you have been a Storyteller all your life, whether you knew it or not. This has been your calling for as long as you can remember, and it has been your work for almost as long. It is a noble purpose, and one that you love, in the very centre of your soul. Storytellers are revered - and rightly so - and you, Beholder, Worldmaker, Weaver of Wisdom, after many years of generously sharing your precious, meticulously-crafted gifts, are one of the most revered of all. 

Today is a particularly auspicious day for you, because you have decided that you would quite like to be married. And, as one could expect, being as revered as you are, when you announced your intentions, you quickly accumulated a long line of hopeful suitors, many of them grand, illustrious people, ardently reaching out to you from across all of the eight realms, in one way or another, to convey their intentions. 

Decorated warriors, wealthy merchants, famed artists looking for a smart match to further their own acclaim with your ideas; all of these you could do without, and you made no bones about rejecting their advances in the very clearest terms. You are, after all, a wordsmith. They’ll be left in no doubt about your feelings. But the jarls, kings,  _ emperors… _ Now these,  _ these  _ you can do something with, and with that in mind, you invite them to a Proving, as is customary for a Storyteller seeking to choose a spouse. 

However, where you previously had a great number of aspirants in this contest, now there are only three. All of the others backed down and hastily withdrew themselves from the running when they discovered that Tore Khan intended to vie for your hand, fearing retribution from him, and you suppose that you don’t mind too much. This Proving might have been a months-long affair had all of your shortlist of suitors actually turned up, stealing you away from your work for far too long, but three is a manageable number, and you need not choose any of them if they displease you in any way. You can always hold another Proving after Tore Khan has been shuffled off, if you still have a taste for such things. 

That said, the fact that these others weren’t eager enough to compete against Tore for the privilege of marrying you does mark them down considerably in your opinion. It might not be any loss at all that they’ve politely excused themselves from your selection. You’ll see, one way or another.

And so, as you are seated in your ceremonial throne, your remaining three suitors enter the hall, and the Proving begins, at your word, as they each kneel before you. Now all you have to do is choose who will speak first, and you gracefully extend your hand towards the young man to your furthest left. He bows his head even lower in courtly thanks before neatly standing and offering another bow, the traditional greeting of his homeland, to introduce himself. 

“Storyteller.” He speaks proudly and clearly. “I am Prince Lin Ban, heir to my mother’s Empire of the Ten Continents. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to participate in this Proving. I will endeavour not to disappoint you.” 

So  _ this  _ is Prince Lin Ban. You’ve heard of him but never met him, and although you aren’t overly keen to marry him - he’s very young, perhaps barely 20 years old, making him some 15 years or more your junior, which doesn’t appeal to you a great deal to say the least - you have to admit that the fact of his still being here at all has raised your eyebrow. Perhaps he’ll surprise you yet. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Lin Ban of the Ten Continents.” You give a gracious nod in return for his greeting. “Tell me, then, Prince Lin Ban: Why do you wish to be my husband?” 

“Well, Storyteller,” he replies, earnestly meeting your eyes, “My mother, Empress Lin Song, has greatly enjoyed your stories for as long as I can remember. You are her favourite Storyteller of any in all the world, and I grew up listening to her retellings of your work. Your stories of love have shaped my heart, Storyteller, and I would desire nothing more than to spend the rest of my life giving back to you at least some of what you’ve given to me.” 

You look him over as he speaks. He’s tall and lean, fine-featured, with long, fine, jet-black hair that falls smoothly and lightly over his shoulders and soft, elegant, dark brown eyes. You can see him smiling while he talks, although he’s trying not to, and his posture, movements and the gestures of his hands have the careful, rehearsed precision of someone who has had plenty of practice performing them, but not while wearing the elaborate ceremonial robes, resplendent in deep reds and sparkling embroidered gold, in which he is currently dressed. Lin Ban is doing his best, and you suppose that you  _ are  _ a little endeared by it. 

“I see.” You nod in polite acknowledgement. “I understand, Prince Lin Ban, that your mother has set you the task of finding someone suitable to marry before she will entrust her rulership to you and allow you to take her place as Emperor of the Ten Continents. Is this correct? Truly, to marry  _ me, _ your mother’s favourite Storyteller, would be a tidy match for you. You’d be sure to impress her.” 

“Yes,” Lin Ban says, firmly. “It is, and it would. After all, it is common wisdom that Storytellers are revered by all, and with good reason, blessed as they are with the gods’ precious knowledge of creation. But please,” he hurries to add, his head lowering just the tiniest bit, “Don’t imagine that that might be the only reason I’ve come to humbly ask for your consideration, Storyteller. I feel that I’ve come to know you through your work, come to  _ love  _ you, even -” He places his hand lightly over his chest as he breathes that tender word. “- and I believe it must be fate that you and I both have a want to be married at the same time.” 

The Ten Continents are notable amongst the realms for its fierce dedication to independence, a thing made possible by their sheer geographical distance from even their closest neighbours, and Empress Lin Song has ruled, wisely and well, for longer than you’ve been alive. Her son is everything you expected, and although he’s stymied by his youth and inexperience, he’s undoubtedly been well trained in his culture’s courtly manners. He’ll surely make a fine emperor someday soon, when he has had some opportunity to grow up a little more.

No matter how closely you study him, you cannot see even so much as a hair or a thread out of place. His long, heavy robes are sumptuous and utterly flawless, patterned from end to end with flowing embroidered images of his homeland’s native birds and flowers; truly, no effort has been spared in preparing him for his meeting with you. But, you are a Storyteller. This is only to be expected. As he says, you are revered by all, and with good reason. 

“Ah, fate.” You chuckle, sincerely amused by Lin Ban’s suggestion. “If you believe in such things. Well then,” you tell him, finding yourself warming to him a little and seeking to inform yourself more thoroughly before your mind wanders any further, “Since you have such a lot to gain from being my husband, I expect that next you’d like to tell me what could be gained from it for  _ me, _ yes?” 

“Yes.” He half-nods, half-bows, hands gently clasped in front of him. “Of course, Storyteller, and I would tell you immediately that you will have anything you desire. Anything you ask for, I will see that you have it, but more than than that,” Lin Ban tells you, his voice softening, “You will have  _ me, _ Storyteller, and though you need not love me back if you do not wish it, I will love you, in whatever way most pleases you.” 

Your other two suitors, still kneeling and each awaiting their own turn to speak, are watching Lin Ban closely, no doubt weighing up their chances of one-upping him. The first participant to speak in a Proving is always at a disadvantage, and it might have been a little unfair of you to call upon young Lin Ban before your older, more experienced admirers, but this will teach him some valuable lessons for the next Proving he intends to join. 

And he  _ will  _ have to try his luck in another Proving if he wants to marry and inherit his mother’s title and empire, it seems, as the remainder of his answer thoroughly fails to impress you. 

“Even when I am Emperor of the Ten Continents,” Lin Ban explains, imploring, “I will wait upon you hand and foot, and I will cherish every opportunity you give me to do so. I have trained all my life in music and dance, in the art of conversation, and I will entertain you day and night. You will live in the utmost luxury in my grand palace, with everything you could ever need or want in order to pursue your work, and though all of the Ten Continents will live under my command, I will forever live under yours. You will have the finest of everything my empire has to offer. I promise you all of that, and my eternal love and servitude, Storyteller.” 

After hearing him out, you consider Prince Lin Ban’s offering, although there isn’t much for you to think about. 

“Hm. So what you are offering me,” you reply, leaning back into your seat, “Is a man-slave.”

Lin Ban, sensing your disapproval, gives the quietest sigh of discouragement, his expression falling, ever so slightly, though he endeavors to remain suitably composed in your presence. 

“Well.” You frown. “It’s a poor first offer, but it is a first offer, nonetheless. Who will dare to follow Prince Lin Ban’s opening performance?” 

“I will!” Without a moment’s hesitation, your second suitor, having been awaiting his moment, rises powerfully to his feet to stand before you, his voice proud and strong, in the centre of the hall. “I will, Storyteller. I am Tore Khan, Khan of the South, and I offer you the protection of my armies, the comfort of my palace, and,” he adds, with mirth in his voice, “As many man-slaves as you desire.”

Ah, Tore Khan, the warlord. When you’d seen him enter the hall, you’d had your hunches about who he was - tall, broad,  _ very  _ well muscled, and dressed in what could only be ceremonial armour for how little it covers, barely more than a pair of tall, plated boots, a studded loincloth, a pair of broad, imposing spaulders decorated with rows of impressive spikes and leather enough to hold them all in place, and a frankly spectacular horned helmet, currently tucked under his arm. Precious little is left to the imagination, and you expect that that’s the point; Tore’s physical prowess is on full display, almost every inch of scarred, dark-olive skin bared for you to examine and scrutinise, and, if you’re honest, you have no complaints about it. He does have  _ very  _ good thighs. 

And good arms. And a good chest, too, you note, before hastily getting back to business. It’s remarkable, though, how different he is to the dignified and beautiful Prince Lin Ban. Tore is easily twice Lin Ban’s age, and might even be twice his weight, looking at the two of them side by side. You’re sure you’ve never seen two people more different than they are, and certainly not in the same room. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Tore Khan,” you tell him, returning his theatrically low bow with a stately nod. “Am I to understand, then, that you offer me all that Prince Lin Ban has promised and more?” 

“Much more,” Tore eagerly replies, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. “As you surely know, my empire is more vast and more grand than any other in all the eight realms. No one can hope to offer you  _ nearly  _ as much as I.” 

“In terms of riches, at least,” you astutely observe. “But what can  _ you _ offer me, Tore Khan? I will be marrying  _ you, _ one would assume, rather than your empire.” 

“Of course, Storyteller. Of course.” He nods in good-natured agreement. “You deserve the finest husband in creation, in this world or in any other, and that is what I will strive to be, but not merely the finest husband for anyone, but the finest for  _ you, _ Storyteller - your captive audience, your greatest admirer, your listening ear. I would be privileged indeed to be able to witness the process of your work, Storyteller, and although I have no talent for words myself - at least, none comparable to yours - it is my understanding that a Storyteller’s work is much benefited by having someone closeby to hear their ideas as they coalesce and come to light.” 

Already, Tore Khan’s offer of marriage is infinitely superior to that made by Prince Lin Ban. Tore has taken the time to understand what a Storyteller actually  _ wants, _ and your interest is mightily piqued. He’s hardly the most handsome of the selection before you, especially not compared to Lin Ban’s soft face and delicate, tapering fingers, but Tore’s bald head, heavy brow, flat nose and thick-set jaw that lends itself easily to a resting frown aren’t the worst in the world. You could see yourself growing accustomed to them, in light of his attentiveness to your actual needs. 

“Very interesting,” you remark, leaning in, just a touch. “You’ve assuredly taken some time to listen and learn in preparation for your coming here, Tore Khan.” 

At that, he smiles, giving a small bow of appreciation in return for your praise. 

“It shouldn’t surprise you, then,” you continue, “To hear that I should like to know what you expect me to do for you. What do you hope to gain from being my husband, warlord?” 

You’re looking forward to hearing his answer. Tore’s expansive empire, the product of a long dynasty of very successful warlords gathering power, training armies and conquering everything they could reach, has been a point of intrigue to you for some time; as fearsome as Tore’s reputation is, there’s been a distinct lack of any kind of violence in or around his lands for quite some years, and there’s been no conquering to speak of. His style of rule, it appears, has changed course from that of his forebears, but many of the respected opinions you’ve heard have been reluctant to believe that this change is a permanent one. Tore Khan, they suspect, may only be building up to something grand and terrible, but you sense that you may be about to discover the truth for yourself. 

“Other than the priceless gift of being the first to hear your stories?” he asks, once again with the barest hint of laughter glimmering amongst his words. “Truthfully, Storyteller,” he goes on, his expression gently dropping, “What I would like to gain from you is your wise counsel.” 

For the first time since he began to speak, Tore Khan pauses, albeit briefly, to consider himself before he continues. It’s only for a breath, only long enough to straighten his back and square his shoulders, but when he speaks again, his tone is low and serious. 

“I know that you know me as a warlord, Storyteller, and indeed, that is what I have been for most of my life, just as my forebears were. It is no secret that my empire has been united under my dynasty’s banner by blood and fear. But my people tire of war, Storyteller, and if I am to be wholly honest with you and all others in this hall, so am I.” 

Again, he pauses, ordering his thoughts, and you spy him glancing at the two other men to his left and right as he does so, watching them watch him, well aware, as you are, that they must be judging him. 

“I realised this long ago, but I had known nothing but war and conquest from my earliest days, the same as all of those who came before me. I could conceive of no other way to govern, even as desperate as I was to find one. But  _ you, _ Storyteller,” he says, his voice lifting as he gestures emphatically towards you with open, almost pleading hands, “Through your stories and the ideas they carried, you showed me that a better world was possible. You showed me what I must do, how to mend the wrongs I had wrought, and for the better part of the last decade, I have been following what your work has taught me. Surely you have noticed - all of you - that I have brought no war upon anyone in many years.” 

This, as you had previously reflected, is true and correct, but to hear that  _ you _ are the reason, that  _ your work _ has created such waves in the world truly takes you aback. You had always shared your work with the intention that it should make a difference to someone who needed it, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that it could break the chain of a warlord lineage and spare countless people from the horrors of invasion and the ensuring forceful takeover.

Even as profane and absurd as you know it would be for anyone to knowingly lie to a Storyteller, it proves more than you can unquestioningly accept. 

“This is incredible news, Tore Khan,” you remark, sounding more breathless than you’d hoped you would. “I am fascinated to hear more. Please, tell me everything.” 

“Yes, Storyteller. Of course.” He bows once more. “Your stories made me understand that the great wealth of my empire truly has very little to do with me,” Tore Khan tells you, solemnly. “It is its people that make it what it is. I had all of the wealth that my forebears and I had sacked from the estates of my peoples’ former rulers, so much that it was worthless to me for being more than I could spend in a hundred lifetimes... You gave me the idea to share it with my subjects. All of them. Now there is no one in all of my empire who is hungry, no one without a home. My people live better lives than they did before I came, and best of all, Storyteller,” Tore Khan tells you, with a trace of a smile in his eyes, “Is that it is exactly as you say: The bonds of love and respect are greater and more enduring than any that could be forged by fear. My people are more loyal now than they ever were before, for they know that this would all go away if someone else were to take my place as their ruler. You were right about everything, Storyteller. Both my people and myself owe you an immeasurable debt, and I know that I can hardly afford to ask more of you by seeking your counsel as I do, but being your husband would at least give me - and my subjects, all of us - the opportunity to repay what you’ve given.” 

You listen intently to Tore’s explanation, amazed and delighted beyond description that something you had only ever dreamed about, something you believed would only ever exist in the tales you weave, has become a reality - and for so many! Tore Khan has well and truly succeeded in capturing your curiosity; to make such grand, sweeping changes, changes that he might struggle to enforce were he not the overarching authority of his empire, is an astonishing and captivating utilisation of the near-limitless power he wields. 

Still, despite Tore’s impressive appeal for your hand, you’re not yet halfway through this Proving, and the principles of the ceremony must be observed. You dip your head to him in thanks. 

“Thank you, Tore Khan. Well, I must admit that you’ve impressed me. Prince Lin Ban -” You turn to face the young prince once again. “- Do you have a rebuttal to Tore Khan’s offerings?” 

Lin Ban straightens up as you address him, but hesitates in his response, quietly cowed by Tore Khan’s display, if not for the reasons one would expect. 

“I… I do, Storyteller.” Regardless, he endeavors to remain unruffled. “I would like to assure you, first and foremost, that such drastic measures of ensuring equity for the people are not necessary in the Ten Continents. Our people already live well, such that we can afford to have the great focus on philosophy and the arts that we are best known for. That is not to say that we have learned nothing from your work,” he hastens to clarify, “We most certainly have. But surely, Storyteller, you would prefer a husband already well-versed in these matters, yes? Rather than a warlord who is barely learning to understand the concept of fairness?” 

For this flagrant assault on his character and achievements, Tore Khan fixes Prince Lin Ban with a stony glare, but has manners enough to do no more than that. He knows his turn to speak is soon coming. 

You oblige him. 

“Tore Khan, what would you say to this?” 

“I would ask the honourable Prince Lin Ban,” Tore sternly replies, moving to fully face him, “Can he sincerely say that no one in his mother’s empire is wanting or destitute? Does she employ vassals whose duty it is to defend the people in their region from poverty and hunger? Or does he only see those people wealthy enough to appear before his mother and her court and forget that such poverty exists in the streets outside his palace? And I would remind him,” he growls, “That when he answers, he speaks to a Storyteller. To tell anything other than the most honest truth would be a  _ grave  _ transgression.” 

To his credit, Lin Ban holds Tore’s piercing gaze, and stands straight and tall before both him and you, but his brow furrows, his small, soft mouth turning downwards. 

“... I… cannot say that,” he reluctantly confesses. “Not with the full certainty you demand. And it is true, unfortunately, that I  _ have  _ been sheltered, as the distinguished Tore Khan suggests. I regret that perhaps there might be some merit in what he says. I would have to speak to my mother to be sure, but Storyteller, I entreat you: Know that I would make these changes, if they were to turn out to be needed, as my first act as Emperor of the Ten Continents, and as your husband, if it would please you.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, almost frowning. 

“Only to please me?”

“Not only to please you, Storyteller. But because it is only the right thing to do, of course.” 

“Of course. But if you had learned so much from my work already, how is it that you needed Tore Khan to give you the idea to do this? How is it not an idea that your mother has already had?” 

Lin Ban visibly winces under your judgemental gaze. 

“... I don’t know, Storyteller. I am not my mother. But I can promise you this,” he tells you, picking himself up, “Even if you do not choose me today, I will return to my mother and speak of this with her, and I will do my best to persuade her. However, if you  _ do  _ choose me to be your husband today,  _ I  _ will be Emperor, and it will be guaranteed.” 

“A compelling amendment to your leading offer, Prince Lin Ban.” But alas, considering the regrettable demonstration of ignorance on his part, not enough to sufficiently improve your opinion of him. You sigh, as silently as you can. “But a promise that you might do what Tore Khan has already done is hardly equivalent. Is this really the limit of your reach in competing for my hand?” 

“It is,” Lin Ban admits, sadly. “This, and everything my empire has to give, Storyteller. If this is not enough to satisfy you, I beseech you, give me the chance to learn from you. I realise that my youth and inexperience have soured your view of me, but teach me, and I will become the husband you truly want in time, I swear it.” 

“Teach you?” The boy is eagerly digging himself deeper into this hole he’s tripped into, now. “It sounds to me as though you might be seeking to come out from under your mother’s wing and move straight into settling yourself in under mine, Prince Lin Ban. I am not interested in raising you. I believe you will find that that is your mother’s job.” 

You watch him cast his eyes down, embarrassed, and decide that it might be best to spare him any further disgrace. 

“I have weighed your offers, Prince Lin Ban, and I do not wish for you to be my husband. I release you. You may leave. Take what you have learned during this Proving and carry it with you into your next, and hopefully it will grant you more success than you’ve enjoyed here.” 

The young prince’s shoulders drop, and he bows low before you. 

“Yes, Storyteller. I will. And I will explain to my mother the reasons for my failure here today.” 

“Very good. Take care, Prince Lin Ban.” 

“Yes, Storyteller. And you, as well.” 

“Of course.” 

As Prince Lin Ban neatly gathers himself and leaves the hall, noble, poised and dignified even in the face of defeat, that just leaves Tore Khan, and your third suitor, who watch him silently as he departs. Tore Khan’s natural grimace hardens at the sight of the young Prince’s back. He won’t forget the insult to his integrity in a hurry, you sense. 

And, with the matter of Prince Lin Ban concluded, it must be the turn of your Proving’s final participant for an opportunity to properly introduce himself. 

“Well, now.” You relax back into your seat in the ceremonial throne, and extend your hand to address him. “I believe it’s time we heard from you, Esshinu Khan.”

“I agree, Storyteller.” 

Esshinu Khan, the scholar-king, Khan of the East, smiles fondly and sincerely as he rises to his full height. He, too, is dressed in revealing, less-than-practical armour, but it differs wildly from that worn by Tore Khan. Where Tore’s armour is hammered out of tough, functional leathers, the armour that Esshinu has chosen to wear to present himself to you is made from exotic, patterned furs and decorated with bright feathers, all golds and greens, and he has painted his dark skin with stark white body paints in angular, spiraling patterns. All of this is topped with a marvellous plumed headdress, its tall, colourful feathers swaying and bobbing with every move of Esshinu’s head, and the whole arrangement - as well as his impressive body, almost as broad and thickly muscled as Tore’s and just a touch younger - handily achieves its intended purpose of catching your eye.

“I will begin,” he says, with a voice that is deep, placid and quietly confident, “By telling you that I have long been fascinated and inspired by your work, such that the finest scholars and philosophers my realm has to offer have been dedicated to studying it for many years. I have long desired to possess a true and proper understanding of your masterful stories, but even outside of my academic interests, they never cease to touch the deepest parts of my soul. Your talent is undoubtedly unmatched, Storyteller.” 

“Thank you, Esshinu Khan.” You return his smile, and nod kindly. “You are well versed in flattery, at least. Is the impression my work has left upon you the only reason you wish to be my husband, or are there other factors behind your decision to participate in this Proving?” 

“Many, Storyteller,” he warmly replies, standing tall and proud before you. “Many indeed. But chief amongst them is my desire for you to rule beside me and share your ideas. I have, much like my esteemed friend Tore Khan, been trying for quite some time to resolve some of the inequities present in my empire as a…  _ love letter, _ if you will, to you and your wondrous visions of a better future, but such grand, sweeping changes must be passed by popular vote amongst my court, and as you might imagine, some of my wealthier vassals are fearful that they may have to give up their lavish standards of living. I am pushing these changes through,” Esshinu insists, “But it is taking time. I will have it done eventually, whether you decide to take me as your husband or not, of that there is no doubt. But it would most certainly be expedited by your presence, Storyteller.” 

Hearing him out, you watch Esshinu closely. Whilst the first to speak in a Proving is absolutely at a great disadvantage, speaking last also presents its challenges, not least that one must be able to present his position after his competitors and still sound original whilst doing it, rather than merely taking the words and promises of those who spoke before him and swearing to do that and whatever more he can reach for in the moment. In this, Esshinu is being wisely cautious in what he says, and you can safely attribute this to the fact that he knew, beforehand, what Tore would likely offer you. 

This is assuredly so, because Tore Khan and Esshinu Khan are old rivals, and so infamously so that while you were surprised to see Prince Lin Ban remain in this contest alongside Tore Khan, it would have been more shocking for Tore to vie for your hand and  _ not  _ see Esshinu stay to compete with him. For the pair to lock horns over this, just as they do over everything else, is only natural and to be expected. 

There has been no open war between them for a long time, not since their formal agreement of peace, but that’s hardly to say that there never was, and even today, there is plenty of rivalry on both sides of the fence in those places where their empires neighbour each other. Such rivalries are, for the most part, friendly enough, but that’s not to say that there are no tensions between them at all, as you suspect you might be about to see as Tore and Esshinu come head to head here, at this Proving. 

You do relish it, just a little, if you are very, very honest with yourself. 

“Surely you know,” you say, after a moment’s skeptical thought, “That I am a Storyteller and not a politician, Esshinu Khan. It would be one thing to ask my occasional counsel, as any husband would, but to ask me to participate in the regular running of your court? Surely there must be some rationale behind this. Please explain.” 

“Of course, Storyteller.” Esshinu’s characteristic confidence persists. He’d expected that you might demand such an explanation, evidently. “I would never ask anything of that you were not wholly enthusiastic about. But your presence alone would soften the hearts of those other members of my court who delay our progress, I believe, and it is progress of which my empire’s people are sorely in need. But…” His gaze flits away from you, for just the briefest moment. “... There  _ is _ something else, Storyteller.” 

You lean in, genuinely intrigued. 

“Oh?” 

“Well.” For the first time, the Khan of the East seems a little bashful, a trace of a nervous laugh escaping with his words as he speaks. “It seems silly to admit to such a thing at my age, especially in front of my good and admirable friend Tore Khan,” he tells you, “But, much like the young Prince who spoke earlier, the more time I have spent engrossed in your stories, the more deeply I feel I have come to understand you, to know you, and the harder I have found it to stop thinking about you afterwards. This is the first time we have ever met in the flesh, Storyteller, but to me, you are like a friend -  _ more  _ than a friend, even. Storyteller,” says Esshinu, his voice low and cautious, “I have fallen in love with you, and to be your husband would be the greatest pleasure - the greatest  _ honour _ \- of my life.” 

As Esshinu Khan explains himself, baring his soul before you, you listen, and you study his features more closely. His nose is broad and straight, his eyes dark and almond-shaped. His cheekbones are high, wide and sturdy, his lips full and expressive, and his jaw is strong and square. Esshinu is by far the more handsome between himself and Tore Khan, at least by your own culture’s standards of conventional beauty. It is challenging, to say the least, not to be compelled by his words, but you know better than to forget yourself and fall for him just because of this. 

You would be a poor Storyteller indeed if you did not possess some considerable wisdom. 

“All of this,” you remark, matching his earlier lighthearted tone, “And without Prince Lin Ban’s excuse of fanciful youth to explain it away, Esshinu Khan? What am I to make of it?” 

“Whatever you wish, Storyteller,” he replies. “I can only tell you the truth, to make your decision as well-informed as possible. But please know that I would be marrying you for love, not only for love of my empire and its people, but for love of  _ you, _ Storyteller, and it would make me the happiest man in this world or any other.” 

You fix him with a hard stare. 

“And how will you feel if I do not love you back? Would you still be happy to be my husband then?”

After a pause for thought, he looks back at you, humbled by your directness, and speaks softly. 

“I would be nothing but grateful, Storyteller. That you would think to marry me at all is more than I could dream of.” 

“I see.” 

Reflecting on all that Esshinu Khan has said, you settle back into the throne to relax and rub your chin for a moment. He would hardly be the first to become so wholly and sincerely smitten with you like this; after all, Lin Ban spoke of the very same phenomenon only a short while ago, although you might expect it from him. Then again, Esshinu is fairly widely known for his tender heart, and you suppose that you ought not to be too surprised. 

“And suppose I do allow you to marry me for love,” you inquire, curious. “And I accompany you amongst your court and do what I can to aid the progress of these sorely-needed changes in your empire. What will you offer me in return, Esshinu Khan?” 

He briefly bows his head in thanks for the opportunity to answer. 

“As you know,” he says, speaking more cautiously now that he knows how much he has yet to do in order to win you over, “My empire is second only to that of my outstanding friend Tore Khan in terms of wealth and territory. All of it, everything it has to offer, will be at your disposal, of course, as well as my great palace, and me, Storyteller. My lands boast some of the most beautiful cities and landscapes in all of the eight realms, and if you desire new experiences to inspire your work, I would delight in being your travelling companion while you see them all. Anything you wish, I will make it so. That I promise you all of this should go without saying. But what I would truly want to offer you,” Esshinu Khan tells you, “Is a romance greater than all others, deeper and more powerful and eternal than the oceans, Storyteller. I would  _ die  _ for the opportunity to offer you that.”

“You would die for that?” You peer at him, eyebrows raised. “Even with no guarantee that I would ever reciprocate your romantic feelings?” 

“Even so,” he answers, readily. “I would expect nothing from you, Storyteller.” 

“And you would not tire of this or become disillusioned if, after some long while, your ‘great romance’ failed to yield any romance for  _ you? _ ” 

“I would not. You have my word, Storyteller. The chance to love you alone would satisfy me, even if my love were to be unrequited.” 

“And what if, after you come to know me as a person, rather than words on a page, you decide that you do not love me after all?” 

“Surely that could never be the case, Storyteller.” 

“Humour me, Esshinu Khan.” You press him. “What if it was?” 

Esshinu Khan hesitates, considering his answer very carefully. 

“... I would be disappointed,” he eventually replies, “But that is not to say that I would have any regrets. A friendship is easy to kindle when all parties are amenable, and I know that you and I have similar ideas, Storyteller. If I could be your husband and your friend, that would be almost as good, and more than good enough for me.” 

“Hm.” It’s decent enough an answer, but you take it with a pinch of salt all the same. “Very well, then. Describe this great romance to me, Esshinu Khan. Show me your mind’s eye. Tell me how we are to be when we are married.” 

That instantly brings the light back into Esshinu’s dark, gentle eyes, his expression brightening at the opportunity you offer him. 

“With great pleasure, Storyteller.” He bows in gracious thanks, before neatly bringing himself upright with a warm smile, having been awaiting this moment since the Proving began. “Truly,” Esshinu begins, “The greatest pleasure of my life would be in becoming your companion and your partner in all things. To spend our quietest moments together, bereft of the need for smalltalk to fill the air, to simply bask in the comfort of your presence - that, Storyteller, would be greater and more grand than even my wildest dreams. We will share pomegranates under the gentle light of the summer moon, cradled by soft breezes full of the scent of sweet grasses and the rare songs of nighttime birds. We will wash the rice together, Storyteller, and I will share everything I have with you.” 

Well, he’s certainly familiar with your work. You recognise Esshinu Khan’s fanciful imagery as being lifted from your own stories, specifically for you to notice; it isn’t only Esshinu’s scholars who have studied your storytelling, evidently, and his dedication  _ is  _ quite flattering. Once again, his hands are opened towards you, as if to offer himself to you, gazing hopefully up at you from his place before your ceremonial throne, and it feels a shame to disappoint him by asking the question required of the Proving, especially following such a heartfelt appeal. However, you know very well that the Proving demands nothing without a reason. 

The traditional process of the Proving will be observed. 

“I see.” Nevertheless, you do sense your own expression softening as you meet his eyes again. “Captivating words, Esshinu Khan. But, as you must surely be aware, the Proving requires that I must ask -” You turn, extending your hand, towards Tore Khan. “- Tore Khan, do you have a response to your most eminent friend’s offer for my hand?” 

“As a matter of fact, Storyteller -” Tore Khan steps forward, ready and eager to impress you once again. “- I do.” 

Esshinu may have been waiting for you to ask him to describe the great romance he would have with you, but Tore Khan, clearly, has been waiting for you to ask him to  _ comment _ on Esshinu’s description of his great romance. 

“First and foremost,” he announces, standing every bit as proud and tall as one would expect from a man accustomed to confrontations far more life-threatening than this, “I would ask my noble friend Esshinu Khan exactly how he can bear to separate the act of being someone’s lover from being their friend - of being someone’s  _ husband  _ from being their friend, for that matter - and I would also ask him  _ how, _ in all of the eight realms, in all of this world or any other, he can consider the love of friendship to be merely  _ almost  _ as good as the romantic love he describes, merely ‘good enough’. I find this distinction appalling,” Tore remarks, sourly. “To be someone’s lover,  _ or  _ their husband,  _ is  _ to be their friend. Otherwise, you may as well not bother. It is pointless. I would have imagined that being your friend, Storyteller, would have gone without saying, if I were to become your husband, but apparently not.” 

As much as Tore Khan is supposedly addressing you, he is, for the entire time in which he speaks, glaring pointedly at Esshinu, his already hard brow even more deeply furrowed with frustrated disdain. He was stern and serious when he responded to Prince Lin Ban’s bald-faced snub against him, but at this, he seems positively  _ incensed, _ and you watch with pure, tremendous enthrallment as he continues what could, at this point, easily and accurately be called a tirade. 

Esshinu Khan, too, can do little more than stare back at him, stunned into silence. 

“And secondly -” Tore raises a hand to point angrily at him. “-  _ Secondly, _ I would have expected a great deal more from the renowned ‘scholar-king’ Esshinu, Khan of the East, than not only merely  _ quoting your own work _ back at you, but in addition to that, completely failing to grasp any true or real understanding of that work! If those whom he has had studying the intricacies of your precious, marvellous stories for all these long years have only come up with _ this, _ this categorically incorrect analysis that somehow manages to be utterly trite and superficial and yet at the same time  _ incredibly _ pretentious, I would question their quality as scholars, Storyteller. Again, this is appalling. You deserve better.” 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Tore takes a long, deep breath, and sighs, calming. Then, finally, he turns to face you, almost pleadingly. 

“Storyteller,” he says, in a far more placid tone, “Marry me, and I can promise you that from now until the day we both die, there will be someone else to wash the rice. I know that you do not care to wash rice. You would spend every moment of your life on your work if you could. A Storyteller has no time to  _ wash rice, _ and to expect you to do so would be a torture and an injustice.” 

“Well of course!” retorts Esshinu, finally finding his tongue again, and with urgency enough that he forgets to wait his turn. “It is a metaphor for -” 

“It is a metaphor for nothing!” Tore snaps back, rounding on him. “There is no ‘metaphor’ in the washing of rice, nor in the pomegranates, the scent of grass, the birdsong, nor in the swift, clear stream or the blood of a pricked finger! These are not ‘metaphors’, Esshinu! They are  _ examples, _ pure and simple, of the warm, infinitely priceless intimacy of some small, shared task! In your arrogant desire to prove yourself the most perceptive and educated man in creation, you overlook the true beauty of the Storyteller’s work, which is that it can be plainly understood and appreciated by  _ anyone, _ whether they be a scholar, a merchant, a peasant farmer, or even a  _ barbarian warlord. _ ”

Very little surprises you at this stage in your life, but Tore Khan’s lucid and passionate construal of your work’s core is a truly wonderful revelation, and not least because Esshinu’s surface-level analysis has him so furious on your behalf. Tore does not only comprehend your work, but genuinely  _ loves _ it, as you made it to be loved, and on top of that, comprehends you, too, as a Storyteller. 

The smile tugs lightly at the corners of your mouth. It’s all you could ever want. 

“There may be layers to your stories, Storyteller,” Tore remarks, turning to you, “New things to notice with each pass, if one pays attention, but they never pretend to be anything more or less than what they are. Their sophistication lies in their uncomplicated simplicity. And,” he goes on, his hands finally dropping to his sides, “Like your stories, I would offer you the same. I am what I am, Storyteller. You may take me or leave me, but I will never hide anything from you, or pretend to be anything more or less than what I am.” 

“I  _ would _ appreciate that,” you admit, fondly. “Do you have anything else to add, Tore Khan?” 

“Only that the assertion by my fellows in this Proving that your stories are the product of talent or some gift of the gods is ignorant at best and gravely insulting at worst,” he replies, wearied. “Your ability to weave whole worlds full of people, creatures and the delicate threads of their lives from nothing at all but thin air is a  _ skill _ and an  _ accomplishment, _ Storyteller. I am in awe of you. I can scarcely imagine the pains it must have taken to become as proficient as you are, and to have someone stand before you and wilfully misunderstand it all when you have always made such an effort to lay everything out in plain sight for accessibility’s sake must be beyond frustrating. I say again, you deserve better.”

“Thank you, Tore Khan.” You have a keen suspicion that you may have already made up your mind, but once more, the process of the Proving must be observed. “... Do you have a response to this, Esshinu Khan?” 

Esshinu doesn’t answer straight away, instead glancing away from both you and Tore as his handsome features form the beginnings of a frown.

“... I am shamed,” he replies, eventually, casting his eyes down. “Tore Khan is correct in all that he says, Storyteller. I cannot assert otherwise. You are not obliged to make allowances for me or my bookish arrogance,” he tells you, earnestly, “But if you would give me the opportunity to mend my ways and become your husband regardless - as unlikely as I know that possibility is at this ruinous point - I would be eternally grateful. I will dedicate my life to better understanding and listening to you, if you will only give me the chance.” 

Hearing him out, you do consider his plea, but only briefly. There is a clear and definitive favourite in this Proving, and it is not him. You have made your choice.

“Whilst I must commend you for having the courage and decency to admit your shortcomings, Esshinu Khan, and I appreciate all that you have said here today, I do not wish for you to be my husband. I release you. You may leave. I wish you the greatest of success in your work to improve equity and equality for the people of your empire, and rest assured that I will still help you to achieve your noble goals if I am able, but it will be with Tore Khan at my side. If you can accept such a thing,” you add, hoping to lift his spirits at least a little with a touch of humour. 

To his credit, Esshinu smiles and tries to laugh, but it comes out of him weak and half-hearted, which is understandable given the circumstances. 

“I sensed as much,” he says, with quietly unhappy acceptance. “That is a fair and good choice to make, Storyteller. I agree wholeheartedly with your decision and hope that you are indeed able to help me secure a better life for my people. And I would welcome Tore Khan’s support of you in the endeavour as well,” he adds, his tone lifting just a touch as he faces Tore. “We may have our disagreements and our differences, but he is nothing but worthy of my respect, and we will continue to nurture the bond between ourselves and our empires, I hope.” 

“Of course, Esshinu Khan.” Tore gives an appreciative nod. “It will not be terribly long until we see each other again, I am sure.” 

“Very good. Thank you, Storyteller, for allowing me to participate in this Proving,” Esshinu tells you, gathering himself to leave the hall. “I am disappointed that I could not please you enough to be chosen as your husband, but I am grateful that you gave me the opportunity to come this close to it. May you and Tore Khan be happy and well for all of your days to come.” 

“And you, Esshinu Khan,” you reply, returning the low bow he offers before he departs with a courtly nod of your own. “Take care.” 

“Yes, Storyteller. And you as well.” 

“Of course.” 

And with that, you are left alone in the Proving hall with Tore Khan, and his great, broad chest swells with pride as he looks up at you with a smile just barely beginning to bare teeth, despite his best efforts to remain appropriately respectful and stoic. You, too, can’t help but smile back at him, so swept up in the heady euphoria of the moment that it takes you a few beats to remember what you’re supposed to say next.

“... Tore Khan, Khan of the South, I have made my choice. Above all of my other suitors, you have proven yourself, and I have decided that you should be my husband. I accept your offer for my hand. Does this please you?” 

“It does please me, Storyteller.” He sounds almost breathless. “Thank you.” 

Tore Khan kneels before you, his head bowed, and seems to take a heartbeat or two himself before looking up and addressing you again. 

“... Storyteller,” he says, softly, almost whisperingly, “May I approach you?” 

“You may, Tore Khan.” 

With your permission, he slowly stands, and ascends the handful of steps leading up to your ceremonial throne before kneeling once again at your feet. He’s a big fellow. You can appreciate him much more like this. 

“Storyteller,” he says, just as softly, “May I take your hand?” 

You nod.

“You may, Tore Khan.” 

Delicately, Tore extends his open hand to you, wordlessly offering it, and you, in response, reach down to oblige him, placing your hand in his. His skin is rough and his massive hand dwarfs your own as it settles in his palm, but as his fingers close tenderly around yours, he is as gentle as a butterfly, and remains so as you move gracefully out of the throne to your feet. 

“Storyteller, may I stand?” 

“You may, Tore Khan.” 

Drawing himself up to his full height and trying his very hardest not to grin at you, for the first time, Tore Khan must look down to meet your eyes, and you must lift your head and look up to meet his. His features are worn and imperfect, but even in this short time, you’ve grown to appreciate them for what they are, and it isn’t a stretch to imagine that you might grow to appreciate them yet more as you spend more time with him. His thinly-veiled excitement, too, touches you deeply. Indeed, you can already see that you have chosen well. 

“Storyteller, would you marry me?” 

“I would, Tore Khan.” 

As Tore quietly takes your other hand to hold them both in his, the ridiculousness of the Proving’s necessary propriety finally becomes too much for either of you to bear, and together, you begin to laugh, stifling yourselves at first but soon giving in at the sight of each other. The Proving is over, now. There’s no need to abide by its stuffy traditions any longer. 

You and Tore are married in the Spring, with the sort of grand ceremony and celebration that only he - or perhaps Esshinu - could afford, and it is an overwhelmingly jubilant occasion. Now that you and he are finally married, now that Tore is finally, at long last, your husband, you tell him your name, and he makes no secret of his joy at having been entrusted with it. And still, even now that you are married, Tore will not even so much as take your hand without your permission, knowing that he has still yet to earn your full affection. Even if it takes him a lifetime, he swears to do his utmost to be worthy of you and your fondness. 

Everything is exactly as he promised, and so much more. At last, you are free to pursue your passions and throw yourself wholly into your beloved work like never before, and always, Tore is there, ready to provide whatever you need, whatever you want. He leaves you to work alone when you have need of solitude, delights in those times when you seek the comfort of his presence, and never ceases to be your most enthusiastic listener and admirer. There can be no doubt that he loves you, in his way, and, after a time, you find that you have come to love him, too, in your own. He makes you laugh often, and quickly and eagerly learns everything he can about you and your preferences in order to do so all the more. 

Tore’s children, of which there are four, are all as good as grown, being around Lin Ban’s age, give or take a few years. As such, they require nothing and demand nothing from you, and you need only give them the same respect and kindness that you would give anyone. They are wholly ecstatic for their father, for they, too, are great admirers of your work, and couldn’t be happier to have you join their family. They soon become your friends, just as Tore becomes your friend, and you enjoy the time you spend with all of them enormously. This is a great pleasure to Tore, who admits to having been pushed to attend your Proving by them; he might have been too weighed down by his past misdeeds to try if it hadn’t been for the encouragement of his children. 

His empire - now your empire, your home, too - flourishes before you, and he gleefully takes you to see it all, whenever you have the desire for travel. Most of his vassals, you learn, are not their regions’ former rulers, but mostly local elders, the people who best know the needs and cultural intricacies of their people, chosen by Tore to better advise him and maintain a lasting peace. 

(He jokes that he might have told you this during the Proving, but he had been saving it in case he needed to pull something out of the proverbial hat, and neither of his would-be competitors gave him enough of a challenge to necessitate it.)

You are welcomed with open arms, along with Tore, everywhere you go, and you sample delicacies from all over his vast territories, quickly developing favourites. You see corners of the world more stunning and more marvellous than any you have had the luck to visit before, and meet all kinds of fascinating people with all kinds of incredible wisdom to share. All of it delights and inspires you and you pour it all into your storytelling, creating works that, in turn, delight and inspire others. And, when you tire of travelling, you come home to find comfort and peace, a good and restful place that you never have to fear might be stolen from you. 

Your heart is full, moreso than you could have ever dreamed of, and you are happy and fulfilled to the end of your days. 


End file.
